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The  Return  of 
Arthur 


IRVINE  GRAFF     ! 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 


by 

IRVINE   GRAFF 


1922 

THE  STRATFORD  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
Boston,  Massachusetts 


Copyright,   1922 

The  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
Boston,   Mass. 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


76% /v 


l\ttrfjencr  anb  fji^  baltant 


LffiRARf 


Foreword 

All  manner  of  fascinating  legends  cluster 
about  the  name  of  Arthur,  the  Celtic  hero  of 
far-off  days,  who  made  forever  memorable  a 
corner  of  England  which  is  now  Cornwall,  but 
which  in  early  history  formed  a  part  of  Wales. 
It  was  while  I  was  a  child  that  the  legend 
concerning  Arthur's  return  fired  my  imagina 
tion  so  that  it  straightway  set  forth  on  a  quest 
which  was  destined  to  continue  for  years.  With 
my  enthusiasm  kindled  by  the  inscription  on 
Arthur's  tomb  at  Glastonbury:  "Hie  jacet 
Arturus  rex  quondam  rexque  futurus,"  I 
searched  the  pages  of  English  history  from 
Arthur's  day  to  our  own,  but  I  failed  to  discover 
the  individual  who  fulfilled  my  conception  of  the 
King. 

Eventually  the  idea  developed  that  in  my 
own  day  Arthur  might  return.  There  was  noth 
ing  definite  about  this  at  first;  it  signified 
rather  a  groping  into  the  future  for  the  final 
act  of  an  unfinished  drama  of  the  past. 


FOREWORD 

The  Great  War,  instead  of  giving  new  im 
pulse  to  my  quest  for  Arthur,  blotted  him  for 
the  time  from  my  mind.  Yet  in  England 
where  my  friend  and  I  chanced  to  be  in 
August,  that  agonizing  August,  of  1914,  as 
the  tumultuous  weeks  passed,  one  of  the  most 
incredible  things  to  witness  at  this  altogether 
incredible  time  was  the  organization,  or  rather 
the  creation  of  Kitchener's  "Mob,"  an  army 
tumbled  together  with  magical  swiftness  from 
every  corner  of  England,  an  army  unversed  in 
everything  military  save  honor  and  splendor  of 
spirit, —  the  scorn  of  super-drilled  German 
divisions,  the  salvation  of  a  reeling  world.  It 
was  Kitchener,  "the  master  personality  of  his 
time,"  who  called  this  army  into  being.  Yet  it 
was  not  until  long  after  Kitchener's  tragic  death 
that  revelation  flashed  blindingly  upon  me. 

"The  Return  of  Arthur"  marks  the  end  of 
my  quest.  However  unworthy,  the  poem  is 
designed  as  a  tribute  from  an  American  to 
England. 

Irvine  Graff. 
July  28, 1922, 


'Arturus  rex  quondam  rexque  futurus." 


I. 


My  home 's  in  Cornwall.    That 's  the  place  for  me ! 
No  other  spot  in  England  equals  it. 
Cornwall  comes  first ;  my  second  love  —  the  sea. 
My  mother  thought  I  'd  find  home  dull  a  bit ; 
So,  even  though  she  had  the  fire  all  lit, 
She  gave  a  little  cry  when  I  walked  in, 
Thinking,  of  my  two  loves,  the  sea  would  surely 
win. 

I  flung  my  cap  onto  the  window-seat, 
Then  waltzed  my  little  mother  up  and  down 
Until  she  begged  me  to  be  more  discreet. 
Through  all  her  quivering  joy  she  tried  to  frown 
And  light-heartedly  I  was  forced  to  drown 
Her  protests  with  a  smothering  kiss,  and  so 
Knocked  her  lace  cap  awry  and  set  her  pale 
cheeks  aglow. 

m 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

"Mother,  I've  come  home,"  I  cried,  "home  to 

play 

With  you  for  two  whole  weeks  —  to  play  —  to 
.       dream ! 

London's  concreteness  is  too  far  away 
To  touch  the  magic  of  all  this.    I  seem 
To  live  again.    You'll  give  me  Cornish  cream 
For  tea !     And  then,  no  matter  what  we  do, 
There'll  be  the  two  of  us  together  —  just  us 

two." 

A  wistful  look  crept  in  my  mother's  eyes. 
I  knew  the  cause  of  it  and  turned  her  face 
To  meet  my  own.    How  gentle  and  how  wise 
Was  that  dear  face,  touched  now  with  love 's  own 

grace 

Beneath  the  little  filmy  cap  of  lace ! 
She  returned  my  look  with  a  trembling  smile 
And  said  her  loneliness  was  gone  now  —  for  a 

while. 

"I'd  thought,  dear  boy,  it  might  be  you  would 

spend 

Your  holidays  upon  some  roaming  ship." 
"No;  I  came  home,  to  be  home  till  the  end. 
It's  true  —  this  morning,  early,  I  did  slip 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Down  to  the  docks,  and  I  tasted  on  my  lip 
The  salt  of  the  sea  and  a  wild  desire 
Tugged  at  my  breast  —  till  I  felt  you  waiting 
by  the  fire ! 

"I  came  home  then;  and  oh,  I'm  glad  I  came! 
All  days  are  happy  days  when  spent  with  you. 
And  hunting  legends  is  a  great  old  game  — 
Perhaps  I  '11  find  some  that  I  never  knew. ' ' 
' '  To  Cornish  legends,  Peter,  you  prove  true ! 
Because  they  never  leave  you  fancy  free, 
I'm  jealous  of  King  Arthur  as  well  as  of  the 
sea." 

"Absurd !"  I  cried.    "And  yet  my  fancy  dwells 
Upon  the  King's  return.    As  a  boy,  I  swore 
That  he'd  come  back,  but  reason  now  rebels 
When  I  think  of  him  as  he  lived  before. 
He'd  prove  no  help  to  England  now  —  in  war. 
He'd  hold,  like  some  holy  wistful  wraith, 
As  weapons  —  antiquated  chivalry  and  faith. 

"Beautiful,  these, —  but  of  what  earthly  use 
In  a  contest  that  this  century  could  bring? — 
Abominable  weapons  and  abuse 
Beyond  all  horror  of  imagining. 
Romantic  war  no  longer  is  the  thing." 

[3] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

"What  right  have  you  to  talk  of  war  —  what 

right?" 
"I   do  not   say  it's  coming,   Mother, —  but  it 

might. 

' '  Then  he  will  come, —  to  Britain  in  her  need. 
When  that  dread  hour  strikes,  he'll  face  her 

foes! 

King  not  perhaps  in  name,  but  one  in  deed ; 
A  ruling  will  that  no  one  dare  oppose. 
'Rex  futurus' — so  our  old  legend  goes; 
But  King  of  peaceful  England  one  short  hour, 
Or  King  of  an  empire's  future*    What  greater 

power ! 

"I  know  my  mind's  mixed  up  with  Tennyson 

And  Malory,  and  lots  of  others,  too ; 

But  I've  evolved  a  version  which  has  won 

My  credence  more  than  these ;  which,  to  be  true, 

Must  even  desecrate  traditions  you 

And  I  have  loved  from  childhood,  heritage 

Of  centuries,  with  Cornwall  the  glorious  stage. 

"The  legend  that  is  hardest  to  unlearn 
Concerns  King  Arthur  and  his  knights  asleep, 
Waiting  the  destined  hour  of  their  return, 
Within  some  cavern's  dark  and  gloomy  keep, 

[4] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

While  strange   charmed   dreams  beguile   their 

slumber  deep. 

I  used  to  think  that  I  should  be  the  one 
To  find  the  King  and  lead  him  forth  to  greet  the 

sun! 

"So  when  a  tiny  boy,  with  thirsting  zeal, 
I  probed  the  caves  about  us,  near  and  far. 
You  remember,  Mother !    How  you  did  appeal 
To  me  to  learn  to  take  things  as  they  are 
And  not  to  hitch  my  wagon  to  a  star 
Of  fancy  that  caused  my  active  brain  to  teem 
With  the  full-panoplied  heroes  of  a  gorgeous 
dream. 

"But  now  I  know  that  thus  he'll  not  appear. 
Reincarnated,  evolutionized, 
Intensively  experienced,  without  fear 
He'll  meet  the  hour's  issues,  jeopardized 
Though  they  are  by  a  nation  overcivilized 
To  the  point  where  polish  must  soon  give  way 
And  elemental,  brutal  passions  hold  full  sway." 

' '  How,  Peter,  you  do  talk ! ' '  my  mother  cried. 
' '  It  makes  me  shiver  when  you  say  such  things ; 
For  I  recall  the  night  your  father  died  — 
He  told  me  then  to  clip  your  fancy's  wings. 

[5] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Now,  college  has  but  spurred  your  wild  imagin 
ings!" 

' '  The  psychology  of  nations  I  learned  there, 
It 's  true ;  but  that  I  should  have  picked  up  any 
where.  ' ' 


II. 


One  afternoon  soon  after  this  I  strayed 

Quite  far  from  home.     The  sea-gulls  called.    I 

heard 
Hushed  wind-notes  shaken  from  the  grass ;  they 

made 

A  wistful  little  symphony,  softly  slurred. 
All  else  was  still. —  A  tense  excitement  stirred 
My  heart  to  quicker  action  when  I  found 
The  path  led  upward  to  an  unfamiliar  mound. 

Beneath,  I  saw  the  entrance  to  a  cave. 
How  had  I  missed  it  during  all  the  zest 
Of  boyhood  explorations?    My  mind  gave 
One  leap  and  bridged  the  years  between.     The 

best 

Of  me  was  boy  again !    I  longed  to  test 
The  legend  of  King  Arthur's  age-long  sleep. 
Would  he  be  there  —  in  sweet  oblivion  buried 

deep? 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Eagerly     I     scrambled     down  —  then     swiftly 

stopped. 

Just  at  the  entrance  to  the  cave  I  found 
A  stranger,  and  I  gazed  as  if  he'd  dropped 
From  heaven,  or  had  sprung  from  beneath  the 

ground, 

Or  perhaps  —  what  a  wild  thought  to  confound 
One 's  very  senses !  —  had  emerged  just  then 
From  age-long  dusky  shadows  into  the  world 

again. 

He  had  not  seen  me  yet.    In  the  bright  glare 
Of  shadeless  sun  he  stood  there,  strong  and  wise, 
A  striking  figure,  tall,  erect,  and  spare, 
With  noble  brow  and  piercing  bright  blue  eyes 
Set  far  apart.    These  eyes  without  surprise 
Now  looked  at  me.      I   felt  the  strength  and 

charm 
Of  a  potent  personality.    He  raised  his  arm. 

With  a  sweeping  gesture  he  signified 

The  lone  world  near  us  and  the  distant  sea. 

' '  Just  look  at  that !    Just  breathe  this  air ! "  he 

cried. 

With  a  flash  of  humor  he  turned  to  me. 
' '  I  stole  a  holiday !    And  now  I  'm  free 

[7] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

For  a  whole  long  afternoon.    Chance  brought  me 

here; 
I  left  the  coach  and  walked  this  way.    Do  you 

live  near  ? ' ' 

Thrilled  by  the  interest  in  his  kindly  tone 

I  stammered  forth  my  little  tale  of  life 

Begun  right  there  in  Cornwall;  how  I'd  grown 

Familiar,  as  a  child,  with  places  rife 

With  Arthur 's  exploits ;  how  in  peace  and  strife 

I  pictured  all  the  pageantry  of  court 

And  tourney.    Silently  he  heard  my  long  report. 

I  could  not  leave  out  Arthur  from  my  tale ! 
Then  when  I  found  how  keen  he  was  to  learn 
All  that  I  had  to  say,  I  did  not  fail 
To  tell  the  legend  of  the  King's  return. 
I  knew  that  he  was  able  to  discern 
How  real  to  me  were  those  time-honored  themes ; 
He  said  that  he  had  not  outgrown  his  love  of 
dreams. 

So  legends  of  all  kinds  he  loved  to  hear, 
And  specially  those  of  Celtic  origin. 
Emboldened,  I  went  further;  without  fear 
Of  ridicule  I  told  him  that  within 
A  nearby  cave  I'd  some  day  hoped  to  win 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

My  boyhood's   goal   and  find  —  myself!  —  the 

King. 
He  did  not  laugh  even  at  this  fantastic  thing. 

I  said  I'd  never  found  this  cave  before, 
And  for  one  breathless  moment  I  had  thought 
Myself  a  boy  again ;  then,  to  explore 
Its  depths,  the  entrance  I  had  madly  sought  — 
Had  seen  a  stranger  standing  there  and,  caught 
By  a  whirling  notion,  had  fancied  him 
To  be  the  King!     Both  of  us  laughed  at  this 
strange  whim. 

"A  tale  is  told  by  one  old  dame  nearby 
That  Arthur's  second  coming  is  in  doubt 
Because  tradition  has  it  he  will  die 
At  sea;  and  all  of  Fairyland,  devout 
In  fealty  to  the  King,  is  crying  out 
It  will  not  let  him  go  —  his  final  grave 
Would  be  beyond  their  reach,  unmarked  beneath 
a  wave. ' ' 

At  this  point  I  attempted  to  unfold 
My  latest  theory  of  the  myth's  true  scope. 
He  listened  keenly,  then  stood  up.    Big-souled 
Was  the  smile  he  gave  me.    "Boy,"  he  said,  "I 
hope 

[9] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

"We  meet  again. —  Dreams  enable  us  to  cope 
With  harsh  realities,  and  so  —  dream  on ! 
My  name  is  Kitchener. ' '-  -  He  turned,  waved  his 
hand  —  was  gone. 

III. 

Months  passed,  when  threads  of  war  were  being 

spun.  .  . 

Impressions  of  that  hour  did  not  abate  — 
My  hour  with  Kitchener,  Britain's  wonder-son. 
Australia,  India,  Egypt  knew  him.     Fate 
Had  him  on  her  training-ship.    When  hate 
Lashed  waves  of  fury  westward  to  o'erwhelm 
An  empire's  glory,  steadily  he  held  the  helm. 

No  longer  did  I  dream,  for  now  I  knew ! 
I  had  found  Arthur  by  the  Cornish  sea. 
Yes,  this  was  Arthur, —  to  tradition  true, 
Yet  product  of  this  century, —  trustee 
Of  Britain's  greatness.    It  was  Fate's  decree 
That  he  should  come  again  to  meet  the  hour 
When  England  stood  sore  in  need  of  his  kingly 
power. 

On  August  seven  Kitchener  advertized 
For  a  hundred  thousand  men.    His  behest 

[10] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Was  brief:    "Your  King  and   Country  Need 

You."    Prized 

No  more  was  worldly  rank ;  his  rank  was  best 
Whose  standard  was  the  highest  in  the  test 
Of  manhood.    Shortly,  with  a  great  heart-throb, 
England  witnessed  the  creation  of  "  Kitchener's 

Mob." 

Not  knights  of  the  Round  Table,  these,  and  yet 
In  beautiful  truth  their  modern  counterparts. 
For  tournament  a  trench,  where  they  have  met 
The  last  great  challenge  with  as  loyal  hearts 
As  Arthur's  knights  of  old.    Prowess  imparts 
The  patent  of  nobility  to  all. 
Clerks  might  have  had  their  accolade  in  Arthur's 
hall. 

Each  soldier  of  that  gallant  Mob  received 
A  message,  not  unlike  the  charge  a  knight 
Was  given  by  Arthur ;  things  to  be  achieved 
Concerned  honor  and  women  and  the  might 
Of  personal  conquest  —  not  alone  the  right 
To    conquer    foes.    Lastly  —  sternly    challeng 
ing — 

' '  Do  your  duty  bravely, 
Fear  God, 

Honor  the  King. ' ' 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

I  might  have  made  one  in  that  Mob  had  not 
The  sea  more  loudly  called.    I  volunteered 
For  duty  there  and  all  went  well.    My  lot 
Fell    to    the    battle-cruiser    Hampshire.      Fate 

steered 

My  course,  and  eventually  commandeered 
My  very  dreams.    One  day  I  heard  at  drill 
Lord  Kitchener  was  on  board.     I  felt  a  boyish 

thrill. 

It  was  the  fifth  of  June,  nineteen-sixteen, 
When  from  a  northern  Scottish  port  we  steamed 
And  ran  into  a  violent  gale.    Between 
The  hours  of  five  and  six  it  almost  seemed 
As  if  no  boat  could  live.    The  tempest  screamed, 
Demented;  with  insensate  fury  it  lashed 
The  sea  to  foaming  madness;  winds  and  wild 
waves  clashed. 

Our  convoy  was  sent  back,  while  we  pushed  on. 
We  had  not  been  told  our  destination. 
I  was  content  in  this  vast  game  to  be  a  pawn, 
But  grimly  I  hoped  —  for  the  salvation 
Of  Britain 's  plans  —  that  the  computation 
Concerning  Kitchener's  safety  was  made  out 
So  that  not  the  shadow  of  a  turn  was  left  in 
doubt. 

[12] 


THE  EETUEN  OF  ARTHUR 

They  did  not  know  who  Kitchener  was!     Of 

course 

They  reverenced  his  fame,  and  were  aware 
Of  his  power;  but,  had  they  known,  the  whole 

force 

Of  our  great  empire  —  land  and  sea  and  air  — 
Would  have  been  requisitioned  to  prepare 
The  means  for  absolute  security. 
I  could  not  voice  my  view  —  they  would  but 

scoff  at  me ! 

No,  they  did  not  know ;  it  was  only  I. 
I  once  had  tried  to  tell  it  to  a  chum, 
A  boy  I'd  known  at  college.  He  called  me 

"Guy" 
Good-naturedly,  and  said,  "What  rot!"    He'd 

come 

From  Manchester.    A  boy  from  there  'd  be  numb 
To  legends  quickening  my  Cornish  heart, 
Forming  of  my  inner  self  an  integral  part. 

Never  again  would  I  expose  my  dream! 
I  hugged  it  close  —  and  found  it  grew  more  real. 
Each  act  of  Kitchener's  made  his  whole  life  seem 
An  answer  to  that  promise  to  reveal 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

The  future  Arthur  when  time  made  appeal. 
The  time  had  come;  brilliantly  was  fulfilled 
The  forecast  that  events  should  march  as  Arthur 
willed. 

Footsteps  were  coming  towards  me,  and  they 

sent 

Hot  blood  through  my  veins  in  a  surging  tide. 
One    of    the    figures    paused.      "Why,    Peter 

Ghent!" 

A  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder.    "This,"  he  cried, 
' '  Is  the  dreamer  lad  of  Cornwall,  my  guide 
Into  the  lovely  realm  of  Celtic  lore! 
You  told  me  more  than  I  had  ever  known  before. 

"Then,   too,   you   had   a   theory  —  Ah,   now   I 

bring 
It   to    mind."     With    droll    humor    Kitchener 

smiled. 
"When  I  saw  you,  you  were  looking  for  the 

King 

Of  legendary  greatness,  reconciled 
To  sleeping  in  a  cave  until,  beguiled 
By  time's  necessity,  he  should  again 
Assume  a  leading  role  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

[14] 


THE  RETUEN  OF  ARTHUR 

' '  For  a  moment  —  do  you  remember  ? —  you 
Took  me  for  the  King!"     Kitchener  laughed 

outright, 

And  I  blushed  furiously  red.     "It's  true," 
I  stammered,  and  I  longed  with  all  my  might 
To  tell  him  I  still  thought  so,  that  to-night 
Nothing  could  convince  me  he  was  not  the  King. 
But  my  thoughts  died  away  into  vague  murmur 
ing. 

He  sobered.  "Boy,"  he  said,  "it's  good  to 
dream. ' ' 

A  wistful  shadow  clouded  his  blue  eyes. 

"Life  else  were  very  bitter  in  the  scheme 

Of  present  things."     Again  a  smile, —  so  wise, 

So  sweet,  so  strong,  so  kind! — "Don't  under 
prize 

The  gift  —  but  sometimes  forge  dreams  into 
facts. 

In  this  brave  way  can  dreams  be  justified  by 
acts." 


IV. 


A  fearful  terror  clutched  me  by  the  throat,- 
Presentiment  of  danger.    The  storm's  hate 

t'S] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Increased.    If  things  went  wrong,  I  thought,  no 

boat 

Could  live  in  such  a  sea.    What  precious  freight 
We  carried !    Who  on  board  could  estimate 
Its  worth  ?  .  .  .  There  came  a  rending,  deafening 

blast. 
The  ship  reeled  from  a  mortal  wound.    Snarling 

waves  rushed  past. 

There  was  no  confusion.    Each  knew  his  place, 
And  the  discipline  was  excellent.    Men 
Rushed  to  the  boats ;  these  were  lowered  apace  — 
And  crashed  into  kindling.    Now  and  again 
The  ship  lurched  like  a  living  thing  and  then 
Gave  a  groan  of  agony.    Baring  white  fangs, 
The  sea  danced  round  its  victim,  watching  its 
death-pangs. 

What  caused  the  explosion,  I  do  not  know. 
Perhaps  we  struck  a  mine.    Vividly  clear 
Is  the  memory  of  Kitchener,  although 
All  things  then  seemed  blurred.     I  saw  him 

appear 

From  the  captain 's  cabin ;  showing  no  fear, 
He  mounted  to  the  quarter  deck.    A  friend, 
A  staff -officer,  was  with  him.    Then  came  the  end. 

[16] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

There  was  no  chance,  because  the  boats  were 

wrecked. 
Three  rafts  were  launched,  but  who  could  tell 

their  fate? 

Eight  bells  struck: — this  I  dimly  recollect. 
Then  a  pain  of  passionate  protest  ate 
Its  way  into  my  heart.    Was  it  too  late 
To    save    Kitchener?      The    ship    was    sinking 

fast  .  .  . 
Nothing  could  be  done- — I  accepted  this  at  last. 

In  agony  of  spirit  I  raised  my  head 
And  saw  Kitchener.    I  loved  him  with  a  love 
Verging  on  idolatry.    Enough  is  said  .  .  . 
He  looked  down  at  me  from  the  deck  above 
And  gave  me  his  smile.    At  once,  like  a  dove 
Folding  her  wings,  peace  nestled  in  my  soul. 
I  answered  his  salute  with  steadfast  self-control. 

Black  waters  engulfed  me  and  I  soon  lost 
Consciousness.    When  I  found  myself  again 
I  was  on  a  raft  which  was  being  tossed 
Drunkenly  about  but  stayed  afloat.    When 
I  struggled  to  get  up,  with  oaths  the  men 
Knocked  me  down  and  said  that  I  must  not  stir ; 
There  was  one  too  many  on  that  raft,  as  things 
were. 

[17] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

I  lay  still  a  bit,  with  my  mind  a  blank. 
Then  recollection,  like  a  surging  tide, 
Came  sweeping  full  upon  me.    ' '  The  ship  sank  ? ' ' 
I  asked.    Some  one  nodded.  "I  saw  her  glide 
And  take  a  header  —  well,  at  the  outside, 
Say  fifteen  minutes  after  she  was  struck. — 
But  we'll  live  through  this,  if  we  keep  on  having 
luck." 

' '  What  time  is  it  ? "    There  was  still  a  little  light, 
But  I  thought  each  minute  had  been  a  year, 
For  I  felt  queerly  old.    "If  I'm  right, 
It  must  be  almost  nine."    "D'you  think  land's 

near?" 
"The  Orkneys  aren't  far  —  but  too  far  from 

here." 

I  felt  queer  again, —  queer  and  sick  and  blind. 
I  waited  for  a  distant  thought  to  reach  my  mind. 

It  came ;  though  blurred,  sharply  it  was  defined. 
' '  The  King ! "  I  gasped,  ' '  Where  is  the  King  1 ' ' 

They  turned 

To  look  at  me.  One  grinned.  ' '  I  hope  he  dined 
At  Buckingham.  His  Majesty's  always  spurned 
A  raft  in  a  gale  at  sea."  I  discerned, 

[i  8] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ARTHUR 

Through  burning  misery,  my  unwitting  slip. 
''Kitchener,  you  mean?     Lord  Kitchener  went 
down  with  the  ship." 

I  had  been  rescued,  but  my  King  was  dead. 
What  could  life  hold  ? — Then  I  recalled  his  smile, 
And  knew  that  it  would  light  all  life  ahead  .  .  . 
King  Arthur  had  returned  for  a  little  while 
And  now  had  passed  at  sea.    In  the  quaint  style 
Of  the  legend :  ' '  Unmarked  must  be  his  grave ; ' ' 
But,  in  spite  of  Fairies,  he  had  come  —  in  time 
to  save. 


['93 


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